Clipped Wings
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: What if the chems had worn off sooner? AU


Title: "Clipped Wings"

Status: OneShot; Complete

Fandom: The Bourne Legacy

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Aaron Cross/Kenneth Kitsom, Eric Byer, Marta Shearing

Disclaimer: The Bourne Franchise belongs to Robert Ludlum and Universal Pictures; not mine.

Rating: T

Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst

Warnings: unbeta'ed

Summary: What if the chems had worn off sooner?

Clipped Wings

"Thank you, sir. Welcome aboard."

Aaron managed a smile and turned to the left, following the directions the stewardess had given him in search of his seat; just one of many tourists and business men.

The aisle was crammed with people wrestling with their luggage, and he bumped into bodies with mumbled apologies. The air in the plane was cold and filtered-dry, yet Aaron felt the sweat collecting on his brow. It was getting worse, he was running out of time.

He turned, trying to spot Marta, then kept going. She would come. Aaron dropped down heavily in his seat at the window, the false leather creaking. He reached up to rub at his temple, feeling damp hair and his own racing pulse. Shit.

A shadow fell over him and Aaron opened his eyes, never having felt how they had drifted close. The sight that greeted him filled him with dread, yet that tiny part of Kenneth rearing its head only felt relief. It was jarring, enough so to get rid of the dizziness.

The man staring down at him didn't look as if he had ordered a secret government project to be shut down only days ago; everyone connected to Outcome killed on his orders. Sin eaters nowadays came in crisp suits.

"Hello Aaron," Eric Byer said and took the seat next to him. "I'm impressed you made it this far in your condition."

"Yeah, withdrawal is a bitch." Aaron shrugged and sat up straight, doing a sweep of his surroundings. He had to bide his time, wait for the right moment to make his move. Easier said than done without a weapon, and a raging fever. "What happened to Marta?"

He spotted six agents in the cabin, two at each exist, all armed and wearing bullet proof vests that were badly hidden under their suits. There might be more sitting hidden amongst the chattering tourists, ready to intercept him. Aaron's eyes met the stewardess' and she flinched, so the personnel had been informed of a covert operation, probably with himself playing the terrorist that needed to be brought down.

"Nothing. She is waiting for the car that will bring her to her new home. She called us." Byer raised an eyebrow at his expression. "We moved the stems to a more secure location over a year ago."

Aaron tried to digest that, Marta selling him out, and failed. Maybe he had overlooked the signs, mistaken them for shock, like he had gentle hands and smiles for flirting when he had been her guinea pig. It was hard to stay away from someone, thinking they might care; but that was Outcomes weakness, wasn't it, all that emotional noise.

"What was her price?" Aaron was genuinely curious, though her passionate speech about her research came to mind as the obvious answer.

"That is none of your concern."

The reality of her betrayal – _Eric's_ – hit his fuzzy mind with delay but even more vicious because of it, like something bitter shoved down Aaron's throat, making it hard to breathe, to think, to strategize.

"You think I'll come along quietly?"

Aaron had grabbed Byer's wrist hard enough to grind bones together before he even thought about it. Far from being a mere pencil-pusher, Byer took it without flinching, his only reaction was a casual wave to the agents to stand down.

Aaron was caught in his stare when Byer turned in his seat to properly look at him. "That's exactly what you will do, Aaron. I know you. There are 267 civilians on this flight."

"You wouldn't."

"I will, if you force my hand," Byer said with a pleasant smile that didn't reach his blue eyes. "Come now."

He stood up and Aaron followed, squeezing past him to walk up the aisle, feeling the world tilt as the blood rushed up into his head. Byer grabbed his elbow from behind, not to restrain but steady, and it took less than three minutes to leave the airplane, get down on the tarmac and from there to a waiting car.

It wasn't an attempt to escape that made Aaron whirl around and backhand Byer with all the force he could muster, following up with a punch that would have broken the man's nose had it only connected.

The agents had wrestled him to the ground before the pain in his hand could register, but Aaron grinned up at Byer, seeing the blood dripping down from his chin with grim satisfaction.

"Sir!"

"I'm fine," Byer said, brushing off the agent that had caught his backwards stumble, and spit out a mouthful of red. "Get him ready for transport."

Byer climbed into the car and Aaron felt the prick of a needle, the cold rush of a sedative through his veins, heard the noise of handcuffs snapping into place and then slipped into darkness, wondering if he would wake up and who he might be when he did.

XXX

_Marta shifted in her seat under that steady gaze, feeling her heart pound away in her chest._

_She had seen Donald running amok in the laboratory and put two and two together. Ever since her unplanned survival she had waited for her number to come up. Being invited by Ric Byer because they 'needed to talk' was not what she had expected, yet definitely better than a __hitman__ appearing on her doorstep. Hell, she had even been offered coffee._

_Realizing she had spaced out, Marta refocused on what Byer was saying._

"_LARX is still up and running. Your expertise would be more than welcome."_

"_If I cooperate in this."_

_Byer nodded, one hand running absently over a stack of files on his desk. "Yes. Quid pro quo."_

"_How do you know that Outcome # 5 will make contact with me?" Marta raised her hands in a placating gesture, knowing that she had no real choice in the matter. "I just mean – wouldn't it be more likely that he's simply trying to escape?"_

"_I worked with Outcome # 5. He will look for a way to get to the chems; failing that he will search for the stems themselves. To acquire either he will need your help, and us setting you up as bait will not only flush him out but lay all suspicions he might have against you to rest."_

_Marta listened to the plan, flashing a nervous glance to the woman in a suit that would hold her at gun-point in the near future. "I understand."_

"_Good." Byer gave her a reassuring smile that looked so genuine it could only be fake. "Should anything unforeseen happen don't try to be a hero. Play along with Outcome # 5 and contact us if possible. Either way, we'll find and extract you before you can leave the States."_

_Feeling the shift of the transmitter under her skin, the tiny throbbing wound, Marta had no doubt that they would. She allowed herself of moment of regret and guilt, then pushed the thought aside. # 5 had known what he had signed up for and she had made it a habit to keep her head down. Her research, potentially beneficial for billions in the near future, was too important to give up for a stranger._

XXX

The hissing sound of the opening door made him flinch, though not as much as the steps coming closer. He dared a quick look and felt bad for the dark shape on Ric's cheek. It looked like it hurt. He remembered anger and weird memories flashing in his head, a big plane, a woman, a wolf, snow.

He didn't understand what had gone wrong. But he knew that being back here was bad, this was the room with the tests and if he didn't give the right answer they wouldn't let him stay.

"Hello Aaron," Ric said, towering over him.

He grabbed the edge of the cot he lay on tight and jerked a nod, too tense to get his mouth to work. His head hurt. He didn't want to say something stupid, people got that look then, disappointed and frustrated and their smiles would tug down at the edges of their lips.

But he liked Ric, who had a kind voice and didn't mind questions or saying stuff twice, took time to explain, gave his shoulder a pat or squeeze. He would hate to get that look from him.

"Sir," he forced out through numb lips.

His whole body felt like that. He knew that meant they had done tests while he had slept. He didn't mind that, better being in that dark place than feeling the pain. It was part of his training and all good, because if he did what the doctors told him he could stay.

"How are you feeling?"

The mattress dipped as Ric sat down near his hip. Aaron would have moved, but the leather straps held him in place, wrinkling his blue jumpsuit. Like this he could feel how warm Ric was in the chilly, white walled room.

He smiled up at him and tried a shrug, not sure what Ric wanted to hear.

"There is no wrong answer when it's just you and me, remember?" Ric said it with a frown, voice stern, and Aaron nodded quickly. "Good. So – how are you feeling?"

"Head hurts."

"Dr. Hilton gave you something before you woke up. It should kick in soon."

Aaron swallowed. He didn't like sleeping this much. He didn't like remembering hitting Ric who had looked so angry.

The numbness spread and the cold too, and the room seemed less white, as if darkness was creeping in. It felt wrong and his heart pounded in his chest. He let go of the cot's frame and tried to reach Ric's hand.

"Can I stay? I'm sorry. I dunno what I did, but let me stay? I do better, promise. Please, Ric."

He couldn't read the look Ric gave him, but he knew that kind smile and felt the squeeze as Ric took his hand.

"Of course you can stay, Aaron. Something went wrong during training, so we'll simply start over. Alright?"

Aaron nodded and tried to keep his eyes open, to hold on to that face and voice. It was getting darker, though, and he breathed in, in, _in_ but it wasn't enough somehow.

"δέκα."

"εννιά," he answered, proud that he remembered. Ric had taught him Greek, to count down the numbers until a test began, a warning, to prepare for it when it might hurt. That was familiar and the panic went away. "οκτώ."

"εφτά," Ric took over. "έξι."

"πέντε," his voice cracked on the word. "τέσσερα..."

Aaron tried, but didn't reach zero.

The End


End file.
